


nothing but your t-shirt on

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Canon Divergence, Dirty Talk, Domesticity, Established Relationship, Flirting, Humor, M/M, Moving In Together, Post Chapter Two, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 16:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: He shakes it out and holds it up by the shoulders to get a look at the design on the front.RICHIE TOZIERit reads across the upper chest, with a cartoony version of Richie himself flipping off the viewer. Below that, it readsJUST BEING HONEST TOUR – 2012.Richie swallows. “Hey Eds?” He hollers.Or, Richie finds a memento of Eddie's.





	nothing but your t-shirt on

**Author's Note:**

> saw some art of Eddie in a green shirt belonging to Richie, and that inspired this in a roundabout way. 
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing as always! 
> 
> enjoy!

“This box in the bedroom?” Richie asks, already bending to pick up the slightly crinkled, definitely aged cardboard box. In the back of his mind, he’s surprised that Eddie has a box looking so ragged—the majority of his things are neatly packed into plastic bins with snap tops so that no water can get in, and…Richie blinks, pushing Eddie’s rant from his thoughts. “Eds?”

“What?” Eddie’s head pokes around the corner from the living room to the hallway. “Oh yeah, just put it on the bed, I’ll unpack it later. It’s just a couple valuables, I think.” With that, Eddie disappears back around the corner, followed shortly by the _snap_ of another box being opened.

_Even weirder_, Richie thinks. Valuables in a rickety cardboard box? _So_ not Eddie’s style. He shrugs and hefts the box into his arms before starting up the stairs. 

Richie drops the box on the bed and stares at the slightly ajar top, pushed open by Richie’s arms around the sides. He can’t see inside, but even the slight glimpse has his curiosity piqued. _Valuables_, Richie thinks. _What could Eddie have that’s valuable enough to keep, but not enough to be packed properly?_

Richie gives in to his curiosity, knowing Eddie will be annoyed but unsurprised, and pulls at the cardboard flaps. He peers inside.

At the very top sits a photo album, with the slightly eerie title of “MOMMY” in bold, foam letters across the front. Richie shoves it delicately aside and hopes sincerely that Eddie doesn’t want to store that in their bedroom. A little deeper in the box is an old plush bear, slightly moth-eaten and worse for wear, but still cute. It has mis-matched button eyes and a little ratty shirt on. Richie turns around and sets it on top of the dresser, right at the corner of the mirror, smiling.

He rifles around in the box some more, pulling out things he thinks can fit in their room, like an old trophy from a spelling bee Eddie won back in middle school, and a _very_ old, crinkled photo of him and Eds at the photobooth at the arcade. Richie wonders how long Eddie’s had that shoved in the bottom of this box, unaware of who the gangly, bespectacled kid in the picture was.

Eventually, the box is nearing empty save for the photo album and a few other things Richie didn’t dare touch. He reaches in one last time to pull out a deep emerald t-shirt, worn soft by excess washing and wearing. He thumbs over the seam in his hand, humming. It feels nice, but a bit too threadbare to be one Eddie wears out and about. Maybe it’s a pajama shirt?

He shakes it out and holds it up by the shoulders to get a look at the design on the front.

**_RICHIE TOZIER_** it reads across the upper chest, with a cartoony version of Richie himself flipping off the viewer. Below that, it reads **_JUST BEING HONEST TOUR – 2012_**.

Richie swallows. “Hey Eds?” He hollers.

Eddie’s voice, when he answers, is closer than expected. He’s right at the door. “Why did you open the box? I said I’d get to it.”

“Uh, just wanted to help.” Richie nods to the teddy bear on the dresser.

“Oh,” Eddie gives him a small smile and walks over to the dresser. He brushes a hand over the bear. “My dad gave me that.” He turns to Richie, still smiling, until his eyes land on the shirt now crumpled in Richie’s hands. “Richie.”

“Found this in the box too,” Richie says.

“Richie, I can explain.”

“I had…_no idea_,” Richie drawls, “That you were such a super fan, Eds!” He crows in delight. “It’s so _soft_, and I know my manager didn’t shell out for that good cotton fabric for my 2012 tour. That was like, my worst fucking tour. How often do you wear this thing? Every fucking night?”

“Shut up!” Eddie screeches, hands over his face. “Why’d you touch my stuff!”

“Eddie, we’re dating. That’s like, blanket permission to touch your stuff.” Richie waggles his eyebrows and Eddie answers him with a groan. “Seriously, I just wanted to help,” Richie adds. After a moment—and another glance at the tee—he laughs. “This is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.

“No it’s not.” Eddie stomps forward and holds out an expectant hand. “It’s fucking embarrassing, is what it is.”

“We’re _dating_, Eds. I’d be wounded if you _weren’t_ a fan of my material.”

“You didn’t even write that material!” Eddie snatches the shirt from Richie. An image flashes in his mind of the shirt tearing, and the thought hurts too much, so Richie lets go immediately. Eddie clutches the shirt to his chest with a frown. “I…”

Richie holds his hands up. “You don’t gotta explain how irresistible I am.” He grins, lopsided. A peace offering.

Eddie looks down at the shirt, the faded design. “I dunno,” he says instead. “You’re more insufferable than anything.”

“That’s my Eds,” Richie says, terribly fond and heart pounding. He wraps his arms around Eddie, the shirt trapped between them. He drops a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “C’mon, you’ve got a shit ton of stuff left to unpack.”

“I’m just gonna put this away real quick.” Eddie worms out of Richie’s arms and, after a moment’s consideration, presses a kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth. “Thank you for helping,” he says, voice warm and rumbling against Richie’s skin.

“What kind of asshole boyfriend would I be if I made you unpack _by yourself_?” Richie scoffs. He playfully swats at Eddie’s ass as he walks toward the bedroom door. “_Andale_, Eddie! Your cleaning supplies and, uh, whatever else you packed aren’t gonna put themselves away!”

Richie doesn’t look back as he slips out of the bedroom to give Eddie a moment. He takes the stairs two at a time and skids to a stop on the hardwood floor of the hallway. He looks up at the stairs and the slightly ajar bedroom door with a grin.

“What are you looking at?” Eddie says as he comes out of the room. He crosses his arms over the chest. “You’re so lazy, god.”

Richie preens. “But you love me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes affectionately. He starts down the stairs, hand curled carefully around the bannister, until he’s nearly within arm’s reach of Richie. “Somehow,” he says, “I do.”

Richie reaches out and hooks a finger in the waistband of Eddie’s sweats, urging him down the last couple steps so they’re eye to eye—Richie standing flat on the hallway floor, Eddie a step above. Richie winds his arms around Eddie’s waist and presses his forehead to Eddie’s.

“I’m really glad you agreed to move in with me.”

“Is it ‘moving in with you’ when we agreed to buy a whole new house together?” Eddie asks.

“It is if I say it is,” Richie says before kissing him.

Eddie leans into the kiss, arms looping around Richie’s shoulders. They stay like that for several long, languid minutes until Eddie pulls away, lips flushed and eyes half-lidded. “We need to finish unpacking. If we don’t fuck around, we can finish today.”

“In what world are we gonna be able to _not_ fuck around?” Richie says. “That’s just unrealistic.”

They _almost_ get through the rest of their boxes. _Their boxes_, Richie thinks with a snort. _It’s all Eddie’s._ Richie hadn’t had a lot to move into their new place—and he had about a week’s head start on Eddie, given that their house is less than an hour drive from his old apartment. Eddie on the other hand had to pack up all his stuff from New York, and ship it out, and wait for things to arrive and panic and fret when things didn’t necessarily all come at the same time and…It was _exhausting_. There’s still a lot of cookware to unpack, and they haven’t even gotten into Eddie’s back up for his back up cleaning supplies.

But they’re tired, and sweaty, and hungry. Eddie’s retreated to the shower and Richie stands in their kitchen, scattered with boxes and dishes that still need to find a home.

“I’m just gonna call for takeout,” Richie hollers when hears the shower turn off. “Probably Chinese food.” 

“Fine!” Eddie calls back. “You know what I like.”

Richie finishes up the call just as he hears the quiet footfalls of Eddie coming down the stairs again. “We’re gonna be so buff after this,” Richie says without looking at Eddie, knowing he’s coming into the kitchen. Richie’s trying to figure out a place for the now _fuckton_ of forks they own. “Doing all those steps, heavy-lifting and shit.”

“You’d look gross if you got all buff,” Eddie says as he comes up and hugs Richie from behind. He can’t quiet hook his chin over Richie’s shoulder so he presses his cheek against Richie’s back. Richie revels in the warmth. “So would I.”

Richie hums in agreement. “Food is probably twenty minutes out or so.”

“Mkay.” Eddie moves with him: the gentle sway from grabbing the forks at Richie’s left to trying to fit them into what is technically the second silverware drawer to his right. Back and forth, side to side, until eventually the doorbell rings.

“We own too many forks,” Richie says miserably. Eddie laughs as he detaches from Richie. “No two men need this many forks.”

“You say that now, but just wait. It won’t be enough.”

Richie shakes his head and sets down the forks in his hand—the second silverware drawer is getting dangerously full—and listens to Eddie answer the door instead. Their voices are too quiet to really hear, but he catches the usual “thanks!” and “have a nice night!” He turns around as Eddie comes back into the kitchen carrying two plastic bags of takeout.

Eddie sets the bags down on the island counter, and it’s then that Richie sees his shirt.

“Oh,” Richie says.

Eddie arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah?”

“Nothing,” Richie says quickly. He hurries toward the takeout bags and starts fiddling with the knots in the handles. “Hungry.”

“Uh huh.”

Richie doesn’t look at Eddie again as they dish up their food and argue over the uneven number of crab rangoons. He doesn’t look at Eddie as they meander into the living room to eat their dinner, and he doesn’t look at Eddie as they turn on the television and tuck into their food.

Because Eddie is wearing clean, soft gray sweatpants that end around his mid-shin and hang low on his hips, and the 2012 tour tee from earlier. It looks even softer _on_ Eddie, and the emerald green is deeply distracting. 

Richie’s not even sure what’s on television, because he’s so focused on _not_ looking at Eddie. 

“Okay, is it too weird?” Eddie asks eventually.

Richie pauses with a bite of sweet and sour chicken trapped between his chopsticks, partway to his mouth. “Wha?” He asks.

“This,” Eddie says. He’s set his food aside to tug at the hem of his shirt. “It’s weirding you out, isn’t it?”

Richie regrets his bite of chicken, as he promptly chokes on it. “Uh,” he says, voice hoarse.

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “God, chew your fucking food,” Eddie says.

Richie chews so quick he bites the inside of his cheek before he swallows. “Uh,” he says again.

“This _shirt_, Richie,” Eddie says. He’s fiddling with the hem. “It’s fuckin’ weird, right?” 

“No.” Richie practically tosses his food onto the coffee table, only catching himself at the last moment—under Eddie’s scrutinizing eye—to set it down like a normal person. Richie shifts on the couch and immediately reaches for Eddie’s hands. He pulls Eddie’s hands from the hem of the shirt and links their fingers instead. “It’s not weird. If anything, _I’m_ weird.” 

Eddie arches an eyebrow. “You _are_ weird. You’ve _always_ been weird.”

“Yeah, but.” Richie swallows. His gaze drifts down to the shirt yet again. It fits him well, not too big and not too loose. “You look _good_,” he says.

“What?” 

“You look so fucking good, Eds, it’s kind of messing with my head.”

“It’s a t-shirt, Richie!” Eddie laughs. It’s a disbelieving sound, but bright and Richie takes it as encouragement. “How do I look good in it?”

“I don’t even know,” Richie says honestly. “But you do, and I can’t really look at you too long without getting _really_ distracted.”

Eddie’s lips quirk into a grin. “Yeah?” Eddie sits up a little straighter. He squeezes Richie’s hands. “This is what does it for you, huh?”

Richie groans. “C’mon, I didn’t tease you when I found the shirt!”

“That’s a lie,” Eddie says simply before going up on his knees and swinging a leg over Richie’s lap. “You teased me a _little_.” 

Richie gulps. “Okay, yes, this _does_ do it for me.” He leans up for a kiss but Eddie ducks away from him. 

“Is it your name on the shirt?” Eddie drags a finger along the shirt, right over Richie’s name. 

“I don’t know!” Richie groans again as his cock twitches in his sweats like a fucking traitor. 

Eddie bites his bottom lip. “Is it cuz I remembered you, even though I didn’t _really_remember?”

The mood shifts in an instant, something more sober and sweet. Richie’s mouth goes dry. “Maybe,” he says. “It’s kind of romantic.”

Eddie laughs softly. “I didn’t even like your standup,” he says, voice aimed down at their laps. “I kind of hated it, honestly. But when you announced a show in New York, I just...I didn’t even think, I just bought a ticket.”

“You didn’t take—?”

“She hated your standup more than me,” Eddie cuts him off. “So I told her I was going to work late and I didn’t get home until close to two am. I was a nervous wreck driving home that late.”

Richie can’t help his grin. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too.” Eddie finally leans in and kisses Richie. It’s slow and deep, his hand cupping Richie’s cheek and Richie melting into the kiss. He grips at Eddie’s thighs hard enough to bruise as Eddie licks filthily into his mouth before pulling back with a soft moan. “You really think the shirt is sexy, huh?”

“You’re sexier,” Richie says, diving in for another kiss. Eddie obliges him again. Richie moans as Eddie’s hands find their way into his mess of curls, matted and still a little sweaty from earlier.

“You’re so gross,” Eddie whines as the kiss breaks, shivering when Richie begins trailing kisses down his jaw and neck. “Why didn’t you shower?”

“You love it,” Richie mumbles against Eddie’s neck. He laves his tongue over Eddie’s pulse before biting down and sucking at the skin.

Eddie arches against him, hands tightening in Richie’s hair. “C’mon, bedroom, we’re not fucking on the couch.”

“Aw, I thought we were gonna christen every surface in this house!” Richie finally pulls back from mauling Eddie to grin up at him.

Eddie’s face burns a darker pink. “We already christened the living room,” he hisses. It’s true, they did—the first night they were both in the house together; the bed hadn’t come in yet so they made a nest of blankets and lumpy pillows in the middle of the floor, and…

“Yeah, but we haven’t christened the _couch_.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and swats at Richie’s hands as they start a slow trek toward cupping his ass. “No, it’s still daylight out, Jesus, Richie.” Eddie slips off his lap and holds out a hand in offering.

Richie sighs, long-suffering, and allows Eddie to haul him up off the couch. Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand as he leads him out of the living room, to the hallway, and up the stairs. As they take the stairs slowly and carefully, Richie can’t help but reach out and slide his free hand under Eddie’s shirt, rubbing at the small of his back. Eddie looks over his shoulder at Richie, lips parted and cheeks pink.

“Lead the way, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“You have _got_ to stop calling me that when we’re about to have sex.” Eddie rounds on Richie once they reach the top of the stairs; it’s a near mirror image of earlier, with Richie a step below Eddie, leaving them just about eye to eye. 

“You keep having sex with me even after I do it,” Richie says, leaning into Eddie’s space with a toothy grin. “You’re not supposed to reward bad behavior.”

Eddie tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Whatever,” he declares, and Richie doesn’t miss the fond twist of his lips. Eddie reaches out and fists a hand in the front of Richie’s own ratty, well-worn shirt. “C’mon, I don’t have all night,” he says as he tugs Richie up the rest of the steps.

“You literally do. Neither of us work tomorrow.”

“I will jerk off without you.” Eddie lets go of Richie’s shirt and turns sharp on his heel to stride toward their bedroom

“Coming!” Richie shouts as he trips over his own feet to get to the bedroom, too.

Eddie pauses in the doorway, smirking. “So soon? That’s pretty pathetic.”

“Why are you such a brat today, oh my god,” Richie asks. It doesn’t stop him from barreling into their bedroom, hands eagerly finding Eddie’s hips as he walks them toward the bed. “I tease you a _teensy_ little bit for being a fan, and you won’t let me _live_, Eds.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Eddie asks as he goes for the hem of Richie’s shirt. “Christ, get this off already.”

Richie has a quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but he’s quelled by a look from Eddie. Richie leans back and lifts his arms obediently so that Eddie can strip the shirt off him. Eddie tosses it into the hamper in one corner of the room while Richie steps out of his sweats, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

“I hate you,” Eddie says as he pulls off his own sweats, tossing them at the hamper too. “If I trip on those in the middle of the night and die, I’m suing you.”

Richie winds his arms around Eddie’s waist and tips him back onto the bed, relishing the feeling of bare skin on bare skin. “I will take full responsibility for your death and let you sue me for every penny I have,” he promises before leaning in to kiss Eddie. Eddie’s retort is lost in the kiss. He runs one hand down Richie’s back, letting his pristine nails scrape lightly against the knobs of Richie’s spine.

Richie shivers and sits up, caged in by Eddie’s spread legs. He admires the picture before him: Eddie, hair soft and fluffy from his shower, face pink and blotchy, cock hard and wet at the tip. The shirt is just a bonus, really; Richie would take Eddie in any clothes, any time, any place. “God that shirt looks good on you,” Richie says just for Eddie’s affectionate eyeroll in response. 

“Hurry the fuck up, Richie.”

Richie salutes and Eddie knees him in the side. Richie curls a hand around Eddie’s knee and twists until he can push Eddie’s leg up, out of the way, leaving him spread open for Richie.

“Richie,” Eddie breathes, voice suddenly soft and breathy. 

“Yeah,” Richie replies nonsensically. He inches down the bed until his feet hang over the foot of the bed and he’s bracketed by Eddie’s legs. Richie keeps one hand pressed against the crease of skin where thigh meets ass and holds Eddie’s leg up before ducking his head.

“Richie!” Eddie gasps. From the corner of his eye, Richie watches Eddie throw his head back, mouth open and tongue swiping across his bottom lip. Richie smirks to himself before leaning in to lavish his tongue along Eddie’s sac and up his stiff cock. Eddie whimpers and his hips move as he wriggles impatiently. Richie turns and nips at the soft skin of Eddie’s inner thigh and Eddie whines again. His heel digs into Richie’s back until finally Richie obliges and dips his head a little lower. 

“Clean,” he murmurs.

“Duh,” Eddie breathes. He opens his mouth to say something else, Richie can see it, but then he leans in and presses his tongue against Eddie’s hole and notes with satisfaction that all that spills from Eddie’s mouth is a breathless moan. 

Richie’s jaw is going to be sore but he doesn’t care; it’s worth it to hear the pure pornography spilling from Eddie’s mouth. Richie spears his tongue and presses it into Eddie, where’s he’s clean and musky, a taste that makes Richie’s mouth water. He shifts closer and licks into Eddie deeper. 

A hand knots in Richie’s hair and tugs. “Richie, c’mon, want you.”

“You got me,” Richie says against the rim of Eddie’s hole. He laves his tongue flat over the furl of muscle and only moves when Eddie kicks lightly at his back. Richie peppers kisses along Eddie’s thighs, across his balls, and up his cock until he presses a sweet kiss to the leaking tip of his dick. 

“Jesus, you’re such a fucking tease.”

Richie winks at him before sitting up and reaching for their bedside table. He digs out the lube and comes back to Eddie panting, thighs marked up with little red hickeys. “God, you’re too fucking hot, Eds. Can I take a picture? I wanna immortalize this.”

“No!” Eddie writhes, bringing up a leg to shove at Richie’s chest with his foot. “Knowing my luck, you’ll post it on Twitter.”

Richie opens his mouth to object, except… “Alright, fair.” He slicks up three fingers before dropping the lube beside them on the bed. Eddie finally lowers his leg and hooks it around Richie’s hip instead to tug him a little closer. “What about a sex tape? For our eyes only.”

“I give you three days before you’d send it to all the Losers.” 

“Fair,” Richie agrees. “But what are friends for?” 

“Friends are _not_ for watching our hypothetical sex tape!” Eddie smacks at Richie’s shoulder. “Will you just fuck me already?” 

“Love it when you boss me around,” Richie says, only half-joking. He brings two fingers to Eddie’s hole and presses them in without further preamble. 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in a silent moan and his eyes flutter shut. _I will never get tired of this_, Richie thinks to himself. He opens Eddie up diligently, adding a third finger when Eddie starts to beg. Richie could spend hours fingering Eddie; it’s always Eddie who gets impatient.

A knee to his ribs—again—has Richie pulling his fingers away. He grabs the lube again and smears it across his cock. He settles between Eddie’s legs and grips his dick by the base, pressing forward slowly but surely. He glances between their bodies, but looks up at Eddie’s face as his dick pops past the ring of muscle.

Eddie makes the same face every time, and it’s just another thing Richie will never get tired of. His mouth drops open and his teeth just barely peek between his pretty pink lips; his eyes fall half-lidded and a flush spreads across his cheeks. It’s like the blush grows, burns brighter, as Richie sinks in to the hilt. 

Richie grasps Eddie’s hips, one hand still sticky with lube, and tugs him closer. Eddie lets out a soft squeak as the motion presses Richie that much deeper inside, and Richie answers him with a groan.

Eddie gets an arm around Richie’s shoulders and tightens his legs on Richie’s waist. “Fuck me already, or is the shirt not doing it for you anymore?”

Richie glances down at the shirt—nah, definitely still doing it for him—and pulls out slowly only to thrust in hard and fast. He doesn’t respond, partly because he can’t think of how to answer other than to fuck Eddie hard and fast and deep. 

Eddie’s nails scrape across Richie’s back. “Fuck, yes, Richie, _finally_.” 

It all moves pretty quick after that. Richie _is_ a tease, and as much as Eddie likes to complain, it’s kind of torture for Richie too. He can’t hold back any longer. He fucks in quick, short thrusts that rhythmically slap their bed against the wall, and rhythmically pull moans from Eddie’s lips. Between them, the hem of the emerald green shirt is getting smeared with precome, and there’s faint sweat marks under Eddie’s arms.

“God, I love you,” Richie moans. He presses his lips against Eddie’s cheek, nuzzles against the slight burn of stubble. “Gonna come for me?”

Eddie nods. He turns his head and catches Richie’s lips in a kiss. At the same time, knuckles nudge along Richie’s stomach, and he doesn’t need to glance down to know Eddie’s got a hand around himself. 

They kiss sloppily, almost lazily in contrast to the quick, eager thrusts of Richie inside Eddie, until Eddie starts to whine into Richie’s mouth. It’s fevered, pitchy whines until Eddie’s back arches and his cock trails come across Richie’s stomach. It’s wet and sticky between them and Eddie’s little frantic gasps for air and his hand still working furiously over his cock tip Richie over the edge.

He thrusts forward and holds himself close as he spills deep inside Eddie. He presses his forehead to Eddie’s as he catches his breath. 

“You’re gross. And sticky.” Eddie wrinkles his nose. 

“Too bad, m’not going anywhere.” Richie does pull out, but only to collapse beside Eddie after untangling from his legs. “I like you like this, all dirty.”

“Ugh.” Eddie swats at Richie’s hand when it trails along the inside of his thigh. “Go get a washcloth, you fucking neanderthal.”

Richie sits up, but doesn’t move away from the bed right away. He admires Eddie on the bed, sweaty and leaking come between his legs and shirt wrinkled. 

“I’m never going to be able to wear this shirt again, am I?” Eddie asks, pulling Richie from his thoughts.

“Probably not,” Richie says agreeably.

Eddie rolls his eyes but reaches out, knots a hand in Richie’s hair, and pulls him down for another kiss. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I’m the _luckiest_.” 


End file.
